Hurt
by fuckinghawthorne
Summary: A somewhat lengthy one-shot about some events post-mockingjay. What would happen if Gale came back to District 12? Based very loosely off of a Johnny Cash cover and a certain young adult trilogy. Enjoy.


_What have I become_

 _My sweetest friend_

 _Everyone I know_

 _Goes away in the end_

 _And you could have it all_

 _My empire of dirt_

 _I will let you down_

 _I will make you hurt_

He tells me he's sorry with the curve of his spine.

The weight of the war we caused is too much of a burden for his body to bear. His posture, previously rigid and proud, sags when he faces me. I look at him straight on, but I can't keep my eyes focused on him for very long. They flit away from his face and back to the mud. I've watched him grow from boy to man to soldier, but now he is no longer any of those.

Are we even human?

"I waited for you, you know," I tell him hollowly, dragging my eyes back up to his face. He returns the stare but says nothing. "I waited for so long."

I can feel rather than see the rock that's settled next to me. We both look at it at the same time. It used to be our throne. Now I wish I had enough strength to smash it into pieces.

"It's Sunday," he says, speaking for the first time. He's still transfixed by the rock. "I brought my bow."

I don't say anything. I just turn on my heel and walk deeper into the woods. He materializes by my side just as silently as he appeared in between the trees only minutes ago. We don't look at each other. We just hunt.

Hours later it becomes clear that we're both out of practice. I had to stop and sit on the ground five times already. He missed a shot at a wild turkey by a good two feet. A deer leaped into our line of sight about halfway through the morning, but neither of us made any move to shoot it. We froze in our tracks. It blinked at us and loped away in less than a second. It takes us nearly a whole minute to get moving again. On our way back, we find ourselves among a flock of primrose bushes. He picks his away around them carefully, but I storm through them without looking back. I don't let him catch up until we reach the other side of the new fence. We arrive empty-handed.

"Are you living here now?" I ask him flatly, glaring up at him. He hefts his empty game bag up higher on his back.

"Yes."

My ears grow hot and for some insane reason I feel the urge to punch him in the stomach. I almost do it, too. But I don't. I simply walk away. "Alright then."

He stands rooted to the ground, letting the fourteen months of silence we've had between us stretch on. I feel his eyes on me all the way home.

* * *

We don't see each other for three more days. When I see the back of his head in the new town square, I look the other way. I buy my vegetables from the old man with the eye-patch and some packs of paper from the girl from District Seven. When our paths cross near the fruit cart, I shy away from him. We meet each other's eyes and keep walking. Later that day, out on our second hunt, we don't mention anything about the square at all. In fact, we don't even talk. I bag a squirrel and he picks some strawberries. I watch his fingers as he works. They're scarred like mine. Covered in dirt like mine. I suppose they're even trembling like mine.

I don't recognize them.

He offers me half of the strawberries but I decline. I don't eat save for what Greasy Sae provides for me, and I'm pretty sure she's allergic to the red fruit. I've lost my taste for them anyways. He shrugs and puts them in his bag. When we get back to the fence I ask him why he bothered coming back. He wipes a hand over his sweaty face, blinking at me in the summer heat.

"Home is home," he says.

I think about my own home. It's not the house in Victor's Village where I currently reside. It's the house I grew up in. The one-bedroomed, drafty, coal-encrusted house that I took my very first steps in. The house where I had my last good night of sleep. The house that not only saw me live, but saw me be alive. "Home is dead," I tell him. "Just like everything else."

He doesn't disagree.

That night I eat dinner with Peeta. We talk much more often than we used to do, although anything beyond superficial chitchat is a stretch for me. I press the boundaries by telling him that Gale is here. I shove a spoonful of Sae's potatoes in my mouth to shut myself up before I tell him something too personal. Like the fact that I'm curious to know what he thinks of it. His blue eyes haze over a little as he recalls who Gale is. What his arrival means. I study his face, absorbing every minute detail. He chews a moment before swallowing and setting his fork down. "I think it's good," he says. I can tell by the clarity in his eyes that he remembers who Gale is. That he knows what he's talking about. "Doesn't he deserve to come home too?"

Home. It's the second time it's come up today. I don't point out to him that none of us have come home- not really. For us to come home there would have to _be_ a home for us to come back to in the first place. I can tell Peeta knows this. We finish our meal in silence. I walk him to the door and he turns to look at me before he goes down the front steps. "The meat was fresh again," he says, trying and failing to twitch his lips up into a smile. "I like it. It was good." For once the smile I give back to him is real, though it's small.

"I shot it myself," I say, and I'd be lying if there wasn't a hint of pride in my voice. "I'm hunting again." I think that statement is true. I'd like it to be, at least. I watch as Peeta walks down the street and into his own house. I scan the entirety of Victor's Village with my tired eyes.

His home is nowhere in sight.

* * *

Today is one of the bad days.

I don't move from my bed. The sun hurts my skin when it touches me through the gap in the curtains. I used to cry on days like this. I used to throw things. I used to weep. Now I just lay here.

"I brought you breakfast," Sae says sometime around mid-morning. She never comes into my bedroom anymore. Her voice leaks through the white wooden door but I don't say anything. I know by the shadow under it that she left the food outside the door for me. Her footsteps clomp down the staircase and fade away into nothing before I move again. The _sun_ goes down before I move again. When I finally pick up the food it's spoiled. Cold eggs and warm milk stink up the hallway. It takes all of my strength to carry the platter down to the garbage can in the kitchen. I move silently, trying not to disturb old ghosts with my sock feet. Its too bad that the ghosts are light sleepers. The reflections I see in the window aren't pretty, and not all of them are of me. My heart starts to race with a fear that fourteen months of freedom have yet to erase. First I see my father. Then Prim. Hers is the hardest to stare at, but the way she dances across the inky blue windowpane makes it impossible to look away. I dump the food into the trash when her tiny figure transforms into something else. My empty plate shakes in my hand and I set the still-full glass of milk into the sink. Closing my eyes doesn't help. I can still feel the people looking at me.

Made transparent by the starlit sky behind them, the reflections of the boy and girl laugh along to a joke that only they can hear. Tears well in my eyes as I watch them grin at each other. I'm angry. Pissed, in fact. I don't want to remember this. I can't bear any more memories, let alone any good ones. Phantom-Gale reaches out and puts an arm around phantom-me, and I lose control.

"Shut _UP_!" I scream at them. They ignore me. I can almost feel the fire that's lit in front of them, can almost hear the chatter of the kids' voices as they run around it; around what used to be us. "STOP IT!"

Posy, Rory, Vick, and even Prim jeer at me through the glass. Phantom-Gale and Phantom-Katniss are unmistakably happy in the window. I grip the plate harder, backing into the counter. Helpless, I watch as Phantom-Gale leans forward to tug on the end of Prim's braid when she prances by. It was back on one of our good New Year's days. When we had food in our bellies and even more in the cupboards. An animal-scream works its way up my lungs and through my throat, and I let it out at the same time the plate soars unbidden from my hand. It smashes through Phantom-Gale's face and lands in the yard outside. I scream one more time just for good measure.

Later, when Peeta finds me hiding in the closet in my mother's old bedroom, I tell him that it was a bad dream that sent me there. I tell him that the plate outside was thrown just because I was angry, not because I was trying to ward off old memories. I don't dare tell him that I reacted this violently to something that used to make me _happy_. To a memory that I used to hold onto even as far back as the first Games, when I had so little to remind me of home. When I _had_ a home. For the first time in days I let him hold me. I let him lay with me that following night and wipe away the tears that I wasn't strong enough to hold back. I even let him kiss me. I tell myself that this is good. Kisses mean affection, and affection means growth. Two days later, when I finally step outside again, I barely remember the incident at all.

* * *

"We broke ground on the hospital today," Gale tells me one chilly morning. It has been a few months that he's been back, and I've seen him nearly every Sunday since then. We don't talk to each other at all most days, but we hunt religiously. It's funny; for over a year I hoped he would return. I practiced conversations in my head that I hoped I would have with him. I rehearsed the words I would say the very first time I saw his face again, the very first time I heard his voice. In none of my scenarios did I say nothing. In none of my scenarios did I find myself with an empty hole in my chest, at a loss for what to say to him. None of them involved him not wanting to say anything back.

I reply to him only because Dr. Aurelius has been teaching me about the healing powers of human conversation. "What hospital?"

Gale scratches the beard he's let grow on his cheeks. "The one I'm building," he replies. He squats down to gather some walnuts from off the ground. "It's why I came back. I got funding from Paylor when I was in District Two."

"It's why you came back?" My unspoken words are left to hang in the air. I thought he had come back at least partly because of me. I straighten my back and look away from him. "Oh."

He focuses on the walnuts. "You still blame me," he accuses, and I close my eyes. "So... yes. It's why I came back. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

I clench my fists into balls. "So that's it?" I say. "You'd just give up on me because you think I blame you?"

Gale hangs his head and takes a measured breath. "I just... I needed some time away," he admits. "So did you. I just couldn't come back here after the war."

Old resentments I had tried so hard to let go of rise in the back of my throat. "You weren't at my trial," I hiss at him. I shove my hand into his shoulder before I can stop myself, and he jumps to his feet. He looks wild. Scared. Like an animal. I suppose I look no different. "You weren't there for any of it. You left me _alone_ Gale." After everything we've been through, I thought I was at least worth more to him than that.

"So did you!" he explodes. "Even before Thirteen! And then after the war you blamed me for the bombs. Don't lie to me, Katniss," he adds when he sees the look on my face. "I know you did. You still do. Don't you?" His eyes search mine for any hint of denial, but we both know he'll find none. I do blame him. Even though I shouldn't.

I bite my lip and kick at a rock. "Why a hospital?" I say it not only to change the subject, but as a form of truce. I'm too tired to fight with him. Not now. Probably not ever again.

Gale shrugs his shoulders, making the heavy denim jacket he wears ride up a little on his torso. He lets our fight go, but I can tell he's still upset. It dawns on me that I'll never stop being able to read him. "I thought it would be a good idea," he says quietly. "To honor her."

It takes me a second to figure out who the 'her' he's talking about is. Once I do, I don't know what to feel. I go with anger. "Well that's just stupid," I snap. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over himself.

"Why?"

"She never... She n-never became a doctor," I stutter, glaring at him. "She never even got to grow up."

Gale looks away impatiently. "You don't think she would have wanted this?"

I don't answer him. A district with an actual hospital? A place where men, women, and children could go in search of help and actually receive it? That's exactly what she would have wanted. A strange look crosses Gale's face and for a moment I think he may cry. He doesn't.

"Besides," he says briskly. "This isn't just for her. You aren't the only one with a sister who wanted to be a doctor."

That catches my attention. "Posy wants to be a doctor?" It's strange that I've never thought of that as a possibility before. It makes sense. Posy has always worshiped Prim. I'm sure my sister's love for healing rubbed off on Posy at least a little. "I didn't know that," I say.

Gale shoves his hands into his pockets, still avoiding looking at me. "Yeah," he says. "She did."

"She... did?" Oh no. Oh God, no. I take a step closer to him and feel terror in my heart. It's been a long time since I felt such a strong emotion, and it almost knocks me off of my feet. _Don't say it_ , I think. _Don't you fucking say it._

He doesn't hold back. "Posy is dead."

I back away from him almost immediately. The thought of it is so disgusting, so _vile_ , that I recoil as if he were made of poison. "Don't say that," I say, shaking my head. I retreat another step. "Gale," I warn. "Don't you fucking say that."

To say he looked anything but dead inside would be a lie. No wonder I can't reconcile him with the boy I once knew. He is not the same person. "She got sick," he explains hollowly. "The air in District 13 was poisonous. She wasn't the only one. It affected the really young and the really old. Leevy's grandmother died too."

The way he rattles off the explanation makes me think that he's said it before. I still refuse to accept it as fact. "Stop," I say weakly. "Gale. _Please_."

"It all happened very fast," he says. "We buried her a few weeks before I came back here."

I cover my mouth with my hand and try to process this. I stare into his grey eyes as he stands in front of me. He's still as a statue, watching to see how I react. I work through it all in my head. I'm responsible for yet another death of a child. As if all the deaths before her weren't enough.

"She never even got to be six," Gale says, not caring that he's finally allowing himself to cry. I feel tears on my own cheeks as I stare at him. He didn't mean to build those bombs. I didn't mean to start that war. Yet here we are.

I feel sick, so I do what I do best. I turn tail and run. Gale's last words to me haunt me all the way home.

"We're even now."

* * *

The night I found out Posy Hawthorne was dead, I smashed every window in one of Victor's Village's abandoned houses. Then I went to see Peeta. We stayed up until three in the morning filling out a page for her in our memory book. I made him draw a picture of her laughing on a spare piece of paper until he finally got it perfect. She took up a whole page, just like Prim. Even though I wrote in my smallest handwriting, there was still so much more that I needed to say. More than a few tears stained the pages, and once Haymitch showed up, I admit that a few drops of liquor stained it too. When I woke up the next morning in Peeta's bed with cuts on my knuckles from all the glass I had broken, I had to remember it all over again. I was so desperate to think of something else, _anything_ else, that I started ripping off Peeta's clothes before he had even fully woken up. It wasn't the first time we had done this, but it was the first time we did it as a way to forget. Afterwards, soaked in sweat and entangled in both sheets and limbs, I let myself cry. I sobbed. I cursed the world and everyone in it. I cried for Posy. I cried for Prim. Peeta tried to tell me it would be okay, but even he knew he was lying.

I had lost another sister.

That was a year ago. Now things are different. Gale and I are closer. Not like we were, but close enough to consider each other friends again. We hunt for our sanity in these woods just as much as we hunt for food. Peeta's new bakery opened last week, and so for the first time in almost two years I have something resembling order in my life. I wake up, head to the woods, and meet Gale at our usual spot. We don't sit on the rock anymore; standing by it is enough. Conversation gets easier as time goes on. I've even brought him home to see Peeta a few times, and to my surprise they actually seem to get along. After our hunt, I head home and start my day with breakfast that I actually make myself. I let Greasy Sae get on with her life a few months ago when Peeta moved in for good. I don't recognize who I was back then. I'm still growing, but I no longer act like a zombie. Dr. Aurelius says that this is called a "breakthrough". I'm not sure what that means, but to be honest I don't care. All I care about is that there are some days where I don't have to force my smile anymore. I talk to my mother on the telephone a few times a week, and sometimes I even talk to Hazelle and the boys. They moved in with my mother when Gale moved here. I suppose Hazelle just can't face Twelve anymore. I don't think I blame her. At night I have dinner with Peeta and Haymitch. He's still an asshole, but my mentor has become a part of my family. I suppose Peeta has too. I wouldn't call it love, but it's the closest to happiness I've felt in a long time. I talk him back into the present whenever he slips into an episode, and he's always there to help me on the days when I can't manage to leave our bedroom. It's not the most conventional of systems, but it works. I fill empty hours by helping at the bakery, and now that it's open I'm busier than ever.

Except not today.

It's finally done. The hospital that was Gale's brain-child is opening this afternoon. There's a ceremony in a few hours that all of District Twelve will attend, but Gale has invited me here a little early to take a tour. It's not a very big place, but it's much more lavish than I had ever thought a building could be in District Twelve. When he walks me to a plaque on the wall in the main lobby, I don't hide my tears. "Primrose Everdeen Memorial Hospital," I breathe, tracing the gold letters with my fingertips. I look up at him, trying to convey how grateful I am with my eyes. He smiles softly and I know that he understands. "This is..." I try to think of the right words. "This is everything she would have wanted." I don't stop myself from hugging him. Though I've done it a few times since he came back, I let this one go on for a long time. We hold each other tightly in the empty hospital, and I bury my face in shoulder. I feel his warm breath on my hair and I lean into his strong torso with a real smile on my lips.

"There's a 'Posy Hawthorne Wing' for all of the children patients," Gale says after awhile, and I pull my head away from him.

"This is amazing," I say, feeling lighter than I have in months. "Really."

I don't stop him when he kisses me. I don't even try to keep myself from returning it. Old memories flash through my mind and for once I'm okay with reliving them. Memories of freezing mornings on our rock with only body heat to keep us warm, memories of the kisses we shared back in District Two and all the ones before them. We no longer taste of misery. I think of Peeta and I almost feel guilty, but the heat of the moment demands that I push all thoughts of him away. Gale's hands grip my hips and I reach up to wind my arms around his neck. "You're still my best friend, Catnip," he says after awhile. The old nickname makes my heart beat a little faster; a little lighter.

"You are too," I say. I squeeze his hand before letting him go entirely. "You always will be."

* * *

Peeta proposed today.

It wasn't something I was expecting to occur this morning, but I admit it was definitely something I saw happening sooner or later. Six years. Six years have gone by since my return to Twelve. Everything has changed. The district is thriving. Gale is my best friend again. We see each other nearly every day, even though our busy schedules make it nearly impossible to find time for one another. I've opened up an apothecary shop. I sell most of my plants to the hospital, but every now and again some odd customer stops by for some good old fashioned healing advice. Who knew that my mother taught me so much? Peeta's bakery is also doing very well, and he's saved up enough money to be able to hire more staff. He spends his new found free time painting and helping me at the apothecary. Gale still helps build and repair things around town, but mostly he works as a head Peacekeeper. Everyone in Twelve hates that word, though, so he's asked us all to call him a 'cop'. It's an old word, but basically means that he'll be policing things around here from now on. The decision to put him in charge was unanimous; no one has forgotten how he saved the lives of hundreds back in the thick of the war. Anyways, I'm anxious about what he'll say once I tell him the news. When I reach our usual spot in the woods, I pace until he arrives.

He shows up grinning. "I have something to tell you," we say at the same time.

He raises an eyebrow at me. "Is it more important than a visit from my mom and the boys?" he asks, unable to hide his excitement. I give him a genuine smile.

"That's great, Gale," I tell him. I mean it. We've both visited with our mothers about once or twice a year since they moved away, but I know he misses his family terribly. I watch as walks around the clearing with a swing in his step.

"What's your news?" he asks me.

I clench my fist tightly, trying to find the right words to say. "I'm getting... Peeta..." I take a deep breath. "Peeta proposed." I hold out my left hand, showing him the ring Peeta gave me.

"Oh." Gale stops moving. He looks between me and the ring and the smile drops from his face. "I... okay."

While I wasn't expecting him to jump for joy, I have to admit his reaction was underwhelming. "Okay?" I echo.

Gale's mouth morphs into a frown. "Okay," he repeats.

"What does that mean?" I say indignantly. " _Gale_." He must have seen this coming. I mean, he was never that thrilled with my relationship with Peeta, but I never kept it a secret from him. He knows we've been living with each other for years.

Gale eyes me warily. "You love him?"

"I-" I stare at him blankly. "Yes. Of course. You know that."

"Do I?" he asks. He crosses his arms. "I've never heard you say it."

"I do!" I say. I actually feel a little offended. "Just because I don't say it doesn't mean it's not true."

"Okay," he says again.

"Fine," I fling back. We don't say a single word for hours afterwards.

Just like the good old days.

* * *

He finds me the next evening in the town square. The first time he tugs on my arm I wrench it away. The second time I let him lead me away from the crowd and into the empty Peacekeeper headquarters. He checks to make sure no one is around before taking us into his private office. I stand and glare at him, waiting impatiently for an explanation.

"I hate you," he blurts out. I raise an eyebrow but say nothing as he scrubs a hand through his hair. "I mean... I _really_ hate you."

"Is this supposed to make me want to talk to you again?" I snark, dropping my bag on the ground. I fold my arms over myself. "And for the record, I hate you too." Deep inside, I know that I'm telling the truth. I know that he is too.

"You're arrogant," he says, leaning against the front of his desk. He talks quickly and without any patience. "And cold."

"So are you," I say, unimpressed.

"You spend more time _thinking_ about things than actually doing them. You never tell me what's going on in your head," he says. "I always have to guess. I never used to have to guess. It's frustrating."

"So are you."

He returns my glare. "You're being stupid."

"So are you."

Gale's unfazed. "I mean it," he insists. "You never think about yourself. Do you even _want_ to marry him?"

I let out a caustic laugh. "I knew that's what all this was about. It's been almost seven years, Gale," I say. "I love him."

"You didn't answer my question."

" _Yes_ ," I sigh. I can't tell whether it's the truth or not. Either way, what business of it is his? I ask him that very question.

"I'm your best friend," he says. "And I know you never planned on marriage. You never wanted this. Especially not to him."

I step closer to him, my anger fueling me forward. "And who would I want it with?" I ask. "You?" His eyes flash and for a second I almost feel bad for causing the hurt I see in them. "We were teenagers," I tell him ruthlessly. "You can't possibly still want me, Gale."

The look he gives me makes me think it's unwise that I've stepped so close. Oh well. I'm already here. "I will never want to marry you," he says gruffly. "I couldn't do that to you. And as for the two of us, you're right. I was young. And stupid. I _don't_ want you, Katniss."

I will never admit that what he's saying hurts me. Even to this day, when we're so far past where we used to be. When I have so obviously chosen Peeta and the life I will have with him. "Good," I huff. "Because I don't want you either."

"Alright then."

"Fine."

His eyes study my own and I stare back at him. "Peeta's a good man," I say forcefully. I don't know why I'm suddenly so angry with him. I suppose I've been angry with him since yesterday. Come to think of it, maybe I've been angry with him for years. All I know is that as of right now, I want my words to hurt him.

"He is," Gale agrees. I don't look away from him and he does the same to me.

"Better than you."

"Better than me."

"And I'm going to marry him," I say.

"Go for it," he answers.

"See if I care what you think," I add pettily.

"I don't think anything of it at all," he shoots back.

"Fine."

"Good."

A heartbeat passes and before I know it I'm smashing my mouth onto his. I kiss him harder than I ever have before. We fall against his desk, sloppily pulling at each other's clothing until not a stitch remains. His body is just as scarred as mine is. Together we're a living testament to the pain fire will inflict upon a person. We're proof of a war that was of my own making. I feel his eyes rake over parts of me he's never seen before and I pretend not to care when he focuses on the worst bits and pieces. The spot on my side where the bullets tore through my armor. The bumpy hole in my leg where they took flesh for the burned mess that was my face. The jagged line across my stomach that I gifted to myself shortly after I got back; one of many that are now a permanent fixture on my skin. He takes his time. Soon his fingers retrace the path that his eyes have just discovered. I do the same on his own body, but I still tremble slightly at his touch. Never, not even with Peeta, have I ever felt this vulnerable.

"I still don't want you," I tell him stubbornly.

"Neither do I," he answers.

We spend the next few hours proving each other wrong.

* * *

The night I spent with Gale in his office was the beginning of something neither of us saw coming. I know I should feel horrible about myself for letting this drag on despite the promises I've made to Peeta, but I can't find it in me to do it.

Did I regret it? Sure.

Did I feel bad about lying to my fiance? You bet.

Would I stop? No way in hell.

As my wedding date grew closer and closer, my desperation to meet up with Gale only rose. I began to crave him. Nearly every night we found a way to make it to each other; and nearly every night we searched for meaning in the grooves of each other's bodies, the rocking of each other's hips. It instantly became clear that his office wasn't a good place to meet. It was too conspicuous and never seemed to be empty when we needed it. So we took to his house. He lives in what used to be the Seam, practically in the same spot he grew up in. His new house is larger, but the neighborhood around it is just as tiny as ever. People talked. We had to find a new place to go. I suggested my apothecary shop, but as it was practically right next door to the bakery it was obviously best used as a last resort. We tried to make it work in the woods, and I admit that even now we go there occasionally when all else fails, but the onslaught of winter made it hard to continue. So we were stuck with my house.

There was a few benefits to this. On the plus side, Victor's Village was devoid of everyone except for me and Haymitch during the day, and he was always too drunk to notice me sneaking Gale inside once Peeta left for work. It was also nice to have the privacy of an entire house all to ourselves. But as always, the cons outweighed the pros. I was always paranoid of Peeta arriving home early for an unplanned lunch or surprise afternoon off. A few times this actually did happen, and Gale and I had more than one close call. When the wedding passed and the bed I had shared more often with Gale than with Peeta became my marriage bed, I called the whole thing off for weeks. I tried to focus on my marriage; I _really_ did. No matter what, I made sure to be there for Peeta whenever something set him off and I tried my best to be everything he wanted in his new wife. I knew Gale understood. He gave me space for almost two months. But the day he came back into my life with his heart on his sleeve and an "I love you," on his lips, I knew I was a goner. It was as if my roles had flipped. Sneaking around with Gale became my new priority, and my life with Peeta was suddenly the charade I had to keep up for appearances. I began to care less and less if we got caught by other people, although my guilt and self-hatred at my betrayal to my husband meant that I was just as frantic as ever to hide it all from Peeta. As the years went on it only got more and more exhausting. I don't mean to imply that all we did was have sex. Sure, we did enough of that, but the real solace I found with him occurred only when we would spend quiet moments together wrapped in each other's arms. When we would sit for hours and talk about our sisters; about the life we used to know. On the bad days I somehow found the strength to drag myself out of bed, if only so I could find my way into his. When his own days got bad, I scooped him back up and helped put him back together. We did what we've been doing since we were kids; we used each other to survive. We helped each other live.

I just wish it didn't come at so heavy a cost.

Integrity. Loyalty. Character. I used to have all of these things. I used to care about the promises I made. Sometimes at night I would look into Peeta's eyes and I could tell that he knew. How could he not? They say the wife always knows such things. But what about when it's the husband you leave alone day after day; night after night? The morning I tell him I'm pregnant is the morning he tells me that it's over. I don't blame him for ending it. It was time. What I do blame him for is never telling me that the Capitol took away his ability to have children. I stand and stare blankly, trying to absorb this information, when he leans down and gives me one last kiss on the forehead. It feels final, this kiss. I try not to think about the fact that it's the last one he'll ever give me, yet he won't even deign to place it on my lips. Deep down I know why he doesn't kiss me for real. I don't deserve it. He probably doesn't even want to anymore. I look up at the man that I've been tied to since I was sixteen years old, and I give him a sad smile. He returns it but doesn't let it linger. I feel a surge of pride. Five years of marriage later and he is finally realizing his self-worth. I'd be a liar if I say I didn't love him. I'd be a liar if I say I didn't love someone else more.

"You should tell the father," are the last words he said to me on those porch steps. I didn't tell him that the father already knew, informed three full weeks before I came to Peeta. Instead, I simply wave as I watch his car drive down the road. He had built an apartment into the top of that bakery before the two of us even got together. I suppose I wasn't the only person with contingency plans.

My sadness at one chapter of my life ending was overshadowed by anxiety of what would be to come. I walked to Gale's house as soon as Peeta's car disappeared down the lane. He met me halfway, just outside of the Seam's border with the town. When I told him who the only possible father could be, he fell to his knees right then and there in the road. Though I was terrified, nothing could stop the laughter that came tumbling from my mouth when he pressed his lips to my stomach, kissing our baby over my clothes. He stood, lifting me up in the air, and in that brief moment in time I truly felt everything would turn out alright.

Now, trailing after him in the woods we grew up in, I can't help but feel a sense of wholeness. Yes, I'm scared. No, I don't know what I'm doing. But the way he holds my hand these days, proud, strong, and unafraid, I know everything will be alright. The way he couldn't stop grinning the day we told our mothers, his chest puffed out and his back straight, told me that I made the right decision. The way he talks to my stomach every night before bed and every morning after we wake up only reaffirms my optimism. Maybe, perhaps for the first time in my life, I know that I have made the right choice.

I have chosen to live.

* * *

 _ **Sooooooo this was different. I hoped y'all liked it! Tell me what you think in the reviews! I'm not really sure what inspired this, but the lyrics at the very beginning of the fic come from a Johnny Cash cover titled "Hurt". I listened to that song more than a few times while writing this. I suggest you ALL listen to it, as it's the most everthorne song you'll ever hear in your life. Seriously. It's beautiful.**_


End file.
